


Head in Cotton

by ReapersAngel



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions
Genre: Angst, Dark, Disclaimer: Credits to Nintendo and Gamefreak, Drabble, Headaches & Migraines, How Do I Tag, Jouto-chihou | Johto Region (Pokemon), M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Prophetic Visions, Visions, Visions in dreams, i guess?, lifeforce draining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReapersAngel/pseuds/ReapersAngel
Summary: Morty has a vision at age fifteen - one of a retreating back, blue hair, and traditional clothes. Years later, he finally meets his vision.
Relationships: Hayato | Falkner/Matsuba | Morty
Kudos: 5





	Head in Cotton

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently according the Pokemon Gamepedia Morty and Falkner are the same age. Interesting, huh?

Morty is fifteen when he has the vision. It’s not clear, like the ones he usually has. No, it’s fogged - not literally, of course. But he can hear nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing, taste nothing. He can barely see anything, but the one thing - _person_ \- he sees feels the most important. A retreating figure, his back to Morty, wearing traditional clothing and with blue hair. He feels the acute point of sadness against his chest.

It fades. His Litwick - a gift - and his Driftloon - his partner since he was four - peer at him worriedly. He only gathers them up and assures them that he’s okay.

* * *

It’s during a gym leader conference when Morty feels the telltale prickling of his skin. He casts a glance up at Chandelure - not _newly_ evolved, per say, but recently, just last month - who’s swinging up by the ceiling. They’re required to have one Pokémon out at these conferences - for what reason he doesn’t know - and she likes pretending to be a light fixture. No one bothers to look up anyways, so she gets away with it. He thinks she likes being able to see the whole room - she’s grown protective of him since she was a Litwick, and he’d say even stormy. Now she’s brewing, like a hurricane. They’re both preparing for something, but they don’t know what it is.

“Did you hear?” Jasmine whispers, sidling up to him. Her Steelix is too big to fit into the room; instead her Mawile is hiding shyly behind her.

“Hear what?” He replies.

“The leader of Violet Gym retired,” She whispers, “Rumor has it that his son inherited the gym.”

“Is that why we’ve gathered here?” He asks. Jasmine shrugs, and when Chuck calls her name she waves and slips away. Briefly, Morty wonders about this new fabled leader. He never interacted much with the old Violet leader - from what he knew of him, he was very straight-laced. Suddenly, the room quiets.

There’s a boy in the entrance of the room. Maybe not a boy, but he’s certainly short. He stands stiffly, a Pidgey on one arm and a Pidgeotto on the other. He has blue hair and traditional clothes, and black-blue - almost grey - eyes that Morty can see even from his place at the back edge of the room. The recognition hits as Chandelure shrieks furiously, speeding away from the ceiling.

Someone - everyone? - shouts, and in a split-second Morty sees a gap between all the people and Pokémon and takes his chance to recall her. He thinks it might be too late - the air in the room has grown heavy and dark and the blue-haired boy even paler than he was before. He tries to calculate how much life force Chandelure might have stolen from him, but there’s an odd buzzing in the back of his head.

Morty ignores the stares and rests his hand over her Pokéball. It’s rattling, loudly enough to be heard, Chandelure pushing its walls. The hurricane swirls even more fiercely, and he catches _sadness_ and _hurt_ and _pain_ and _break_ and _heart_ and _you_ and _him_. He gets the message.

He sends out Drifblim instead. He’s always had more restraint than Chandelure, but even he narrows his eyes. He sticks to Morty like glue as he slides through the other gym leaders, though they part for him. He brushes past the blue-haired boy, careful not to touch him. He stares at Morty, suspicious. He can’t blame him. Somehow, he knows, this will get out, and the rumors and assumptions about him will strengthen and spread - now they’ll say he has no control even over his own Pokémon. The beginnings of a headache start to pound at his temples, strong enough that he can’t ignore it.

He leaves, hoping that the whispers won’t reach his ears and that he can reach a dark place before his head becomes weighed down with cotton and visions.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
